Of Fevers and Ghosts
by Cyprith
Summary: Hale attempts to coerse Proctor into a confession, and failing that, sets him free. Slash. ProctorHale
1. Escaping the Wooden Widow

**Title**: Of Fevers and Ghosts  
**Author:** Kytten  
**Pairing**: Johnny Hale/John Proctor  
**Rating**: PG so far  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own.  
**Summary**: Hale attempts to coerse Proctor into a confession, and failing that, sets him free.  
**Author's Note**: Have been lurking on this com for awhile… maybe a month. Disappointed with the rarity of Hale slash. _Very_ disappointed with the complete and total lack of Hale/Proctor slash as it is my OTP.

* * *

Of Fevers and Ghosts  
Chapter One  
Escaping the Wooden Widow

* * *

Still chained to the wall of the dungeon, Proctor laughed.

"Have I heard you right, Hale? Has that bitch's devil finally possessed you too?"

"You and I both know there is no devil here." The look on Hale's face was nothing short of painful.

"Then tell them that." Proctor snapped. "Tell them to set me loose!"

"I cannot. I've tried. But it has gone too far. Hawthorn claims age with wisdom and will not admit to any mistake."

The bound man sighed and rattled at his chains.

"I will not lie, Hale."

"Are you mad? You must!" The reverend crouched beside him, close enough to touch. "They'll hang you come dawn, John. Think about your children."

Proctor glared daggers. Had it been any other man before him, he would have spat in his face.

"You call me selfish?"

"I call you a fool! Don't throw your life away, John. What will your children learn from your death?"

"That despite their father's sins, he was an honest man."

"This should not be a choice between honesty and death, John!"

"Then tell me what it is!" He snapped. "Tell me how I may keep both my honor and my life."

Hale sighed and stood, turning to pace the room, leaving John to fight with his bondage.

"Quiet." He said at length. "You rattle those chains much more and the guard will come."

Proctor fell silent and turned his head away. After a moment, Hale stopped his pacing and sat down next to him, completely ignoring the state of the floor.

"John." A brush of hands, a turn of the head. "John, please. Keep your life at least."

"What is it worth if the world calls me liar?"

"It cannot be held against you if you do it to save yourself."

Proctor looked at him, head cocked to one side, eyes blank.

"So if I were to kill you, reverend, and lie about the cause to save myself, you're telling me it would be just?"

Hale growled in frustration and turned his head away.

"You know that's nothing close to what I meant."

But Proctor only shook his head.

"You are a broken minister."

"You think I do not know that?" He glared and moved so that Proctor would have no choice but to look him in the eye. "I have been taught that god damns all liars and so must I. And yet I come to Salem and find I must turn my flock to liars or else leave them to be damned by the law for an impossible crime!"

"There has only ever been one witch in Salem." Proctor said, so low his voice was barely heard. "What a pity she won't hang."

"Abigail, you mean?" The fire had gone out of his voice. Hale slumped against the wall, close enough so that their shoulders touched above the chains. "She's left, John. Stole Parris' money and fled. We haven't the faintest idea where she's gone."

That drew some shattered semblance of a laugh.

"And could you find her, what would you do?"

Hale looked up.

"The law? Or myself personally?"

John glared.

"_You_, reverend. What would _you_ do if you saw the lying bitch that broke you, that turned you to a murderer? Given the chance, what would you say then?"

Hale was silent and the moments stretched between them.

"I expected as much." Proctor said at length, glaring through the opposite wall.

"No." Hale's voice was soft but laced with bitter poison. "You know nothing of what I would do."

"So tell me then." He turned and Hale could feel the man's breath hot on against his cheek. "I doubt after this circus she's made of Salem, god will damn you for a wish, Hale. Lord knows I'd wring her neck as soon as look at her again." He snorted. "And it's not like I'll have the chance to tell the world your intent, will I? I'll be dead within the hour."

Hale closed his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

"I expect I would kill her."

"Really?" The disbelief in Proctor's voice nettled him and he turned, glaring.

"You are not the only one she's hurt, John. Near one hundred people dead and most by my signature. Mark me; I will burn in hell for her. My only consolation is that I may drag her under first."

A smile twitched at the corners of Proctor's lips and he leaned closer, just an inch, just enough to whisper into Hale's ear, as if there was anyone to hear.

"If you find her," he murmured. "Kill her slowly, a hundred times over. She deserves that much for accusing Rebecca."

The smile that crossed Hale's face was slow and sad.

"I may yet do it." He paused, seeing a chance. "But she has shattered you, John. Will you not live long enough to seek your own revenge?"

"I will not lie."

"You stubborn ass!" Hale snapped. "What do you expect me to do if you will not at least attempt to save yourself? I will not sit here and counsel you to prance off proudly to your death, a stupid, _honest_ man."

John Proctor glared at him for a long moment.

"I'd knock your teeth out if I wasn't chained, Hale."

He sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"I imagine you would. And at this point, I'd be happy, if only to see you free."

Proctor shrugged, setting his chains to rattling.

"Go council someone else, reverend. Obviously, I am a lost cause."

Hale glared and crossed his arms.

"You know better than to believe I will give up on you that easily."

A slim twist of the lips and a spark of light in Proctor's eyes.

"You're not as stubborn as I am, Hale. I guarantee you will not break me."

"Then I will not stop trying." He glared at the door, hearing footsteps in the hall. "Please, John. Don't hold out for pride."

"I hold out for honesty."

"If you just sign their damned confession—"

"They mean to hang it somewhere."

"Then I will write another proclaiming your innocence and nail it over every copy."

Proctor smiled an honest to god twist of the lips.

"A lot of work over a simple farmer. Let me die in peace, Hale."

"This isn't even about your honor anymore, is it?" He glared. "You're only fighting now to hold out longer than me, you spiteful beast."

That drew a laugh that fell dead at the sight of a shadow before the door. Hale was up and on his feet in an instant.

"It's not yet dawn!" He bellowed, staring down the guard. "Get out!"

Cheever hiccupped and backed a step off, flask still in hand.

"Look, Mister Hale, I was sent down to fetch him. Somethin' about his wife."

Hale sighed, relieved, the anger leaving him as he wiped a hand over his face.

"They have taken my suggestion then?"

Cheever shrugged.

"I don't know but what I've been told, sir. Told me t' bring up Proctor, and that's what I'm set to do."

"Give me the key." Hale held out a hand. "I'll bring him up myself."

"You're not—" _Hiccup_. "Deputized for that sort of thing."

"I'm a _reverend_, Mr. Cheever. What is it you expect me to do?"

"Not what I expect, really. Only that he _may_ overpower you."

Hale took the keys then, without waiting for the other man's agreement.

"I haven't finished with him yet. It'll take a moment more. Wait in the hall outside."

"Reverend, I told you, you're not—"

"_NOW." _

"Right then." He blinked and backed off. Before today he'd never seen mild-mannered Hale quite so hostile. Manic, maybe, but never hostile. "I'll just wait in the hall."

Hale glared, watching him leave before he turned back to Proctor.

"You'd make my life so much easier if you'd actually speak before others, you know."

Proctor shrugged and kept his voice low.

"They chained me here. What love have I for them?" He jerked his left hand free as soon as the key clicked in the lock. "What is this idea of yours about my wife?"

"I suggested that perhaps she may be able to bend you to reason." Hale smiled but there was no humor in it. "Confess your imagined sins, Proctor. For god's sake, _live."_

But Proctor only rubbed at his wrists, standing free for the first time in days.

"I could over power you, you know." He said softly, looking up at Hale. "And that drunk outside as well. Run off before anyone could stop me."

Hale smiled at him and handed him the ring of keys before digging in his pocket.

"I'm surprised it took you this long to realize it, honestly." He grinned to see Proctor's wide-eyed look, and pulled another key from his pocket. "My house key. In the wine cellar beneath a barrel of ale, you'll find a trap door. Stay there until I return."

Proctor grinned like a mad man, and gripping Hale's face in both hands, kissed him hard. Then, without a moment's hesitation, knocked him cold.


	2. Sleeping Dogs

Title: Of Fevers and Ghosts

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Johnny Hale/John Proctor

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own.

Author's Note: So much love, all.

* * *

Chapter Two

Sleeping Dogs

* * *

"Hale?" Cheever hiccupped and frowned. "Mr. Hale, is everything alright?"

"Wonderful." Proctor growled and hit hard enough to lay the man out cold.

His father had said once there was always good in learning how to handle a fight. John smiled to himself and fled the prison, bounding off into the shadows for the woods.

* * *

Judge Hawthorn glared at his pocket watch and then around the room.

"Good lord. How long does it take to bring one man up from the prisons?"

"I hear he's not been exactly… pliable lately." Parris frowned at the door, wringing his hands. "Nearly broke the guard's arm. That's why he was chained up."

"I don't care if he stood the executioner on his ear. He's only got until sunrise and I believe I spot a glimmer in the sky."

Elizabeth smiled behind her hand, pretending to cover her face in imagined grief. Her John was innocent. And at the moment, she knew him to be with Reverend Hale, a good man.

A man who had nearly wept when he found John continued to refuse his life.

He wouldn't be the first man in this town to break under the strain of this devilry. And maybe the old Hale would never think of helping a condemned man free, but this new creature?

She hoped so. She prayed for it.

"My husband can be stubborn, sir." She said softly, looking up from her hands. "Today especially, I'd expect."

Hawthorn sighed and returned his pocket watch to its place.

"Just my luck that out of the three men in the dungeon, none of them are able to make it back up."

"But Proctor hangs today." Parris frowned, stepping an inch closer to the door. "One can't honestly expect him to come willingly."

"I certainly have no hope he will confess." The judge glared and sighed. "You stay here, woman. Parris, you with me. We will find this wandering party if it takes us past down."

Elizabeth felt panic stab at her.

What if John had not yet cleared the building?

"Sir, please." She stood with an effort, her call stopping the man in his tracks. "If he is being difficult, will it not quiet him to look on me?"

"Goody Proctor, we cannot risk his harming you in his struggle." Hawthorn gave her such a look it was plain exactly how little she meant to him. "And if he were to harm the child? You realize it is the only thing keeping you from the gallows."

She clenched her jaw, working hard to school her emotions away from anger. This man had no _right_. But it wouldn't do to show _hysteria_. In the best of times it proved a weak mind, never mind that a man could strike another without second thought. But in these times? It'd be a sure sign of her possession. She'd never see the trees again without a chain about her ankle.

"I will stand far back, sir." She settled a hand on her stomach, subtly showing how much she had grown. "And he would not risk hurting me, even in the throes of… of whatever madness it is that possesses him."

"She has a point, sir." Parris met his eyes with a sort of timidity. "If Proctor were to stop his fighting, perhaps he'd even confess."

Hawthorn made an impatient gesture.

"You've been speaking too long with Hale."

"My husband is stubborn, sir." She took a step forward, eyes glittering like agate. "But I have been known to steer him different on occasion."

"And what proof have we that you can steer him differently now? He is a wizard and a lost cause."

She did glare then.

"The only devil to ever touch my husband was Abigail Williams."

"My Abigail—" Parris started but Elizabeth stared him down.

"Your Abigail was a harlot and a witch besides. If ever I saw the devil, I'd swear he took her face. Look at the ruin into which she's sent this town!"

"There is powerful witchcraft here, Goody Proctor." Hawthorn's voice held an authority that silenced them both for the moment. "And I intend to burn the sickness from this town."

But she turned that stony glare on him, lips pursed white.

"If you cannot mark the devil when you see him, Hawthorn, then what sort of man are you?"

"Woman, I have hung—"

"Yes, pray tell us how many people you've _murdered_!" She was not shouting, but her vehemence overpowered his. "Do tell us how many innocents burned by your hand. Give us the number of necks you've snapped. Please, I don't—"

"I will not have this heresy!"

"I speak against _you_, sir, not God!" And the room fell quiet though the glittering hate never left her eyes. "Unless you care to stake some claim on heaven's throne?"

"I meant nothing of the sort."

"Put your actions before your words, sir, and you'll find people more inclined to believe the latter. As it is, you have done nothing but scatter and murder the innocent people of this town while you let the devils all slip past." When he remained stonily silent, she continued. "Now my husband dies today, sir, and I would see him without a noose about his neck."

Hawthorn glared for a long moment, never quite meeting her eyes. But at length, he bent.

"Very well, woman. And when he renders this child of yours stillborn—"

"You think so highly of a woman's most delicate position, Mr. Hawthorn." She said pleasantly, moving past him. "It's a wonder you were married. However did you manage such a task?"

And the judge glowered, but did not see fit to give reply.

* * *

"Distasteful drunk." Parris glared, the first to spot Cheever, sprawled eagle on the ground. "Should have known he'd only make it halfway."

Hawthorn frowned.

"And yet the prison door hangs open?"

It took Elizabeth a second to realize the figure hanging limp against his chains was not, in fact, her husband.

"Reverend!" Despite the weighted chains around her ankles, she hurried to his side.

And for close to the first time in his long life, Hawthorn felt something akin to fear.

"Get Hale down." He barked at Parris, feeling safer in command. "Wake Cheever and check the both for injuries. I must warn the guards."

Parris watched him turn tail and stride off in the wrong direction before turning to look at Goody Proctor. She had found the keys near to their lock and untangled them from Hale. Now she was engrossed in the tricky task of lowering him to the ground without further damaging whatever injury John had given him.

Parris knelt down next to Cheever and attempted to wake him, all the while glancing after Hawthorn.

* * *

But Proctor was well out of harm's way. Thanks to his wife's distraction, he was miles from the jail on a borrowed horse, following an old deer trail through the woods. Already he could see Hale's house through the trees. He'd be safely inside within the half hour. And until then, he was too deep in the woods to be easily spotted.

Safe at last.

He'd never before appreciated the smell of the forest, or how beautiful it all looked, towering up above him. And it certainly wasn't the first time he'd been dwarfed by these particular trees. He'd explored this stretch of land maybe a dozen times, clearing fallen trees for firewood. Had it been anyone else, he would have simply cut what it was he needed. But for Hale… for Hale he made an effort. And strange as it was, it looked as though he'd been rewarded. Rewarded with life and a promise that one day he could look over his shoulder at the wooden widow without that burst of fear.

But the safety here wouldn't last forever and he was coming up fast on the tree line. Someone was bound to notice the horse if nothing else. So he slipped off and turned the beast around, sending it off the way it'd come with a sharp slap. And ignoring the cramping in his bad leg, he closed his hand around Hale's key and crept onward.

* * *

Hale woke up as Elizabeth worked her fingers through his hair, searching for blood.

"Oh good." She murmured, voice soft. "You've woken."

Hale frowned and sat up, putting a hand to his head.

"Your husband?"

"Gone as far as we can see. Escaped." A small, secret smile. "Perhaps it was divine providence to break his chains?"

Hale kept his face straight and had it not been for the glint in his eyes, she would have truly thought him a victim of her husband's newfound madness. But she said nothing, merely helped him to his feet, steadying him when he swayed and squeezed his eyes shut against the rising sickness.

"Have they any idea where he's gone?" He asked at length, once he had managed to bring his body somewhat under his control again.

"There are a hundred places in this godforsaken town from which he could have stolen a horse." Parris' eyes held a hint of fear. "There's no good chasing after him. He'll be long gone."

"Unless it's revenge he's after." Hale couldn't help it. He'd seen too much death already. And this pathetic little man could have stopped it all with a word before it went too far.

Cheever hiccupped, coughed and opened blurry eyes.

"What happened?"

Hale laughed despite the pain in his head, and closed his eyes for a moment to revel in an internal victory dance.

Proctor was safe. He could not save them all. But Proctor, at least, was safe.


	3. Dreaming Too High

Title: Of Fevers and Ghosts

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Johnny Hale/John Proctor

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own.

Author's Note: I feel so aloooone. Is no one else writing this sorta stuff?

* * *

Chapter Three 

Dreaming Too High

* * *

Hale let himself into the house, drawing one by one the shatters across the windows. Good that it was winter or else someone may suspect he'd somehow managed to hide Proctor away. And chances were there was no way in hell he was going to wriggle his way from that. 

For once he was truly thankful for the hidden complexity of his empty house. It was lonely, secluded…

And the last place they'd expect Proctor to be.

John leaned back in his tiny bunker, listening to the sounds of footsteps above him and attempting to measure the pace. But it didn't sound so much like Hale. He was used to the man's slow, measured stride. This was the stride of a man with considerably longer legs and some place to be.

Proctor checked the lock again and grit his teeth, attempting to work the knot from his leg. It was bad at the best of times. But he'd been bound and near to motionless for days, escaping from that to a small hole in the cellar of a priest.

These were not the best of times. And is leg was _killing_ him.

"John, it's alright." Hale's voice filtered down from above. "You're safe."

He pushed the door open, wincing as it's collision with the nearby keg made an audible thud. But Hale only smiled and offered him a hand out.

"I live alone. There's no one to hear it." He frowned then, seeing John's pain at standing. "Are you hurt?"

"Hurting, not hurt." He gave some pained semblance to a smile.

"Your leg?"

"Despises me." He pulled himself out of the put and staggered upright.

"It's beginning to worry me, John." Hale frowned, following him out of the cellar. "You can't so much as bear weight on it."

"I've lived with it for years, Hale. I assure you, I'll be fine."

"I have never once witnessed you limp."

Proctor glanced back and smiled.

"I don't often limp."

"Is it never this bad?"

He stopped then.

"I shall bind you up in chains, Mr. Hale, and leave you in the same for days without end. I imagine after that you'll be painfully aware of a few cramps too."

"It's more than a cramp, John." He frowned and looped Proctor's arm over his shoulder. "And you'll aggravate it if you walk it much more."

"I am capable of managing by myself." Proctor glared, a flush riding high on his cheeks.

"Not with one leg, you can't." Smiling, as Hale always smiled, heaving him up the last step.

"It will work itself out eventually."

Hale made a soft noise of agreement and it was obvious it was token only.

"And I intend to help it along. Here." He eased Proctor down into a chair before the fireplace.

"What are you going to do?" The farmer frowned, working his knuckles into the knot once more.

"Just at the moment, I intend on starting a fire."

John watched him work, eyes following the movement of his hands on the wood, long fingers flicking bits of it into the tiny flame until it roared into life. Then those beautiful, searching fingers were at his knee and he couldn't help the shuttering twitch.

But Hale only smiled and pulled again.

"Move down."

John squeezed shut his eyes and obeyed, clenching his teeth against the hitch in his breath and praying to whatever heathen god would listen that Hale wouldn't notice.

More importantly, that he wouldn't notice what it was the back of his hand was so close to touching.

The knot unwound under those skilled hands, taking a little of his already tenuous sanity with it. And Hale's lips had set to twitching, a small, secret smile.

"There we are." Hale murmured softly, easing out the last of the cramped. "I'll imagine you can walk straight again."

Providing all the blood returned to his head. Proctor took a deep breath and leaned back in the chair, trying to ignore Hale's sweet little smirk. Never mind that it had painted on the insides of his eyes and ignoring it was like ignoring the throb of blood between his legs.

"You must be hungry." Hale touched a hand to his shoulder as he stood. "I'll find something."

And he left Proctor alone before the fire, the man treacherously close to tears.

* * *

They ate before the fire, Proctor careful not to lean in too close to the man next to him. He was confused. And it wasn't the sort of confusion that came with an entire town falling into ruin at the hands of a child, either. This was the sort of panicked confusion that came with realizing that not only had he become a lecher in the twelve months, but also that he fancied a _reverend_. 

Life, lately, was not turning out to be a very pleasant affair. But he'd stolen a kiss at least. One kiss that Hale would never remember, a perfect shining instant that had been meant to clear his head, to decide one way or the other how he felt.

Such a pity that it only made it worse. Not that those beautiful fingers so close to his crotch had helped much.

Maybe he was over exaggerating things. He was grateful. When no one else had come, or hell, been _able_ to come, Hale was there with him, crouched in the squalid cell. And though the conversation had tended to stick to the necessity of his confession, it did wander at times.

And those were the times he remembered the most, the moments where Hale would let his guard down and let something slip. That his father had been a farmer, or he had two sisters in Maine, his mother and wife both dead by childbirth.

But Elizabeth… Lord above, that woman deserved something better than him. First a servant girl in the barn and now _Hale_?

Not that he wasn't beautiful…

Proctor shook his head hard and turned to stare into the fire. Noticing his agitation, Hale looked up.

"You look pained."

"It's nothing." He turned away, back to his food, but Hale wasn't willing to let it drop.

"Worried for your wife?" He asked, still frowning.

That certainly was one way of putting it. But Hale wasn't about to drop it, and realizing this, Proctor nodded.

"She'll be alright for six months yet." Hale smiled. "And by then I hope to have her pardoned."

"What?" His head jerked up.

Hale laughed and set his plate aside.

"I intend to prove her innocent."

"Even after…" Proctor cut himself off and looked away.

"After letting you go?" Hale supplied.

A short nod and the reverend laughed again.

"The whole world need not know that, John. Even if your wife may yet."

"You told her? When?"

"She is an intelligent woman. I need say nothing. She read it from my face."

"Were there others?"

"You don't think they let her wander about alone. Pregnant, perhaps, but—"

"I meant _who?"_

"Ah." Hale blushed and looked away. "Hawthorn left to sound the alarm and returned some hours later to question us. Parris stayed behind to wake Cheever while your life let me down. A nice touch, I might add."

A flicker of a smile crossed Proctor's face, but it was soon gone.

"None of them suspected?"

"They suspect you beat me over the head and ran like the dogs of hell ran with you. They blame Cheever. He knew better than to give to me the keys. I, however, was distraught and naive." A smile with no real warmth. "Too _young_ to have known baser nature of the devil's man."

"Hawthorn?"

Downcast eyes and a grim nod. Proctor frowned.

"He had no right."

Hale shrugged and stood, taking the plates with him.

"He's older than I. Made friends long ago with the higher powers. That means everything in a town full of the damned. He thinks my preaching to be a lost cause."

"So do I." Proctor spat, looking into the fire. "If you had never come…"

"I think that myself. Every day." He turned and headed off, the last coming so quietly Proctor barely heard. "Every nightmare."

Guilt flared like a wakened birds in the farmer's stomach.

Had Hale not come, another would have. Likely one not so inclined to spring condemned commoners from their cells.

Had Hale not come, more would have hung. Only he had ever attempted to really hear the accused, to see them as people rather than a figurehead for a new cause. For godssake, he'd given Proctor his life back.

"Hale?" He rose and followed after him. "I apologize. You—"

"No need to apologize, John." Still that near dead intonation. "It's completely true."

Proctor glared at himself more than Hale.

_What a wonderful way to return his hospitality, John!_

"No, it isn't." He caught his arm before Hale could slip outside. "You've saved my life today."

But the smaller man only shrugged off his hand and moved away.

"Your world is so small, John." He said quietly.

And without another word he was gone into the newly opened skies, snow painting his black coat a funny sort of gray. Proctor stared after him, knowing he could not go out at all, much less from that door.

_How do you go about telling your savior that you're more damaged than he thought? That not only are you a lecher, but that suddenly you find yourself to fancy men. More specifically, **him. **_

Proctor wandered back into the living room and sat down hard in the high-backed chair before the flames, head in his hands. Everything was falling all to hell. What was he going to do?

* * *

By the way, ya'll need to head on over to the livejournal group called soveriegns. It's a Crucible slash group and is in desperate need of more people. I post there too, by the way, under the name Cyprith. If you know where to find me, you can find the group on my friend's list. 


	4. Sweet Prince

Title: Of Fevers and Ghosts

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Johnny Hale/John Proctor

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own.

**Author's Note**: When I saw this on stage, the actor that played Hale was about 5'5" with long black hair and _gorgeous._ Hale's height is mocked in this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Four

Sweet Prince

* * *

Hale had only just bought the house and what little furnishings he owned were sparse, and scattered throughout. John, while aware of this, hadn't thought about it long enough to come to the obvious conclusion.

Hale had no second bed.

There was only the one, large enough for two perhaps. But it was _winter_ for godssake, and Proctor had a bad tendency to curl up to the nearest source of heat.

Currently that source of heat meant Hale. And although the man was sleeping, Proctor felt like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. What in the hell was he supposed to do if either of the two of them woke up tangled in the other? It was possible. Hell, it was more than possible. It was _probable_. Especially considering he'd spent every night save one of the last five years curled up with his _wife_.

Confusion didn't begin to cover it.

And when Hale shivered in his sleep and began to twitch with a nightmare, John couldn't help the rush of sympathy… or the guilt. It was possible Hale could have slept soundly in the presence of his new company if Proctor had had the presence of mind to pull Hale's from the trials. But now the man's slender fingers were clenched at his neck, eyes squeezed tight.

And even if Proctor was hard-hearted enough to sleep through his half stifled sobs, he owed the man more than that.

"Hush now." He whispered, rolling over to curl an arm around Hale's waist. "Shh… It's over. Just a dream, John. Everything's come out all right."

A soft moan and Hale buried his face in the pillow, flat on his stomach. Proctor leaned closer, easier now that he wasn't pressed flush against the other man. He pushed a hand under Hale's shirt instead, broad, calloused hands stroking against soft shoulders and down into the curve of his spine.

He smiled when his breathing evened, not realizing Hale had woken.

"There now. Better?" He murmured. "No more demons? I'll chase them out for you, if you like. No better devil than Proctor."

Hale smiled into the pillow and twitched a little, just to feel that rough hand stroke harder against his back.

Heaven, he decided, was relative.

* * *

Hale hadn't known Proctor to be a cuddler until that night. Though all told, he rather enjoyed it. He'd been too busy with the prisoners to fix the loose pane in his window, and it had a tendency to let a draft in. But with Proctor drawing him steadily closer with each passing hour, he was wonderful warm.

Especially come an hour before dawn, when John's arm finally locked around his chest and pulled them flush together, Proctor's front to his back. Hale reveled in the feeling for the entirety of an hour before carefully disentangling himself. Chances were, the farmer would not take well to waking up curled around another man, no matter how… _well_ he had taken the working loose of his cramp.

Standing over the bed, Hale smiled down at him and pulled the covers up around him so the chill wouldn't force his eyes. Then, stripping off his shirt, Hale made for the basin by the burnt-out fire.

Proctor wasn't the most intelligent of people first thing in the morning. He staggered out of bed, stared at the gaping hole where Hale _should_ have been and padded off into the main room where he stopped dead, watching as he washed.

And a few minutes later when he began to shave, Proctor was still standing there, eyes fixed. But Hale saw him in the mirror and smiled through the soap.

"You are welcome in my house, you realize, John. You needn't follow me."

There was a pause in which Hale thought and Proctor tried hard to clear his head.

"Unless, of course, you're waiting for the basin."

Proctor smiled, hoping that would be enough of an answer, because just at the moment he was fairly certain his throat was refusing to work until he walked up to that beautiful creature and—

"Just let me finish, and I'll get you new." Hale's voice broke through his thoughts and Proctor nodded, moving slowly to come sit in the chair.

He couldn't stop watching, his eyes fixated on the cutthroat in Hale's hand— short, rhythmic strokes. Strange that he could find beauty in such a simple act, that he could watch a man shave with something completely different in his mind's eye. If ever there was a god, John Proctor was his perfect sinner. No sooner could the church declare it wrong than he would find himself longing, _lusting_ for it.

For Hale. For a reverend of the bloody church.

A reverend acting for the god who'd turned against them all.

Proctor closed his eyes and when he opened them, Hale was whipping his face clean and tucking the basin under his arm.

He returned a moment later, scowling, the basin filled with snow.

"Pump's frozen. If I'd have known, I'd have let you at the water first."

But Proctor only shook his head and heaved slowly to his feet.

"Better that it's cold. I'm asleep on my feet."

Hale laughed.

"What have you to do, John? Sleep the day away if you like. We've no where else to put you."

Proctor stripped his shirt off, seeing that the basin's snow had melted.

Would Hale watch the way Proctor had watched him a few moments before?

There was a part of him that very dearly hoped so. While elsewhere another screamed, _You're married, you lecher! Does it mean nothing to you?_

A marriage, three children. If he were not god's broken, dancing puppet of a man, perhaps he'd have been pleased. What was wrong with him that instead he found himself watching… watching the reverend _shave._

For his part though, Hale seemed just as interested. Though he made no secret of his sharing.

"What scarred you so?" He asked, ghosting a hand over the marks on his back. "Not the guards, I hope."

Proctor closed his eyes against Hale's heat and forced himself to answer.

"No, those are old scars yet."

"And the cause of them?"

"When I was young, my father always carried about a switch as big as his thumb."

"He beat you that badly? Did he not realize…?"

At Hale's horrified look and the memory of his flawless skin, Proctor smiled.

"He intended every mark and more besides." Chucking, he turned back to the mirror. "I take it your father never struck you?"

"When I was small and mischievous, yes. But never did he break the skin. Or bones for that matter. Good lord."

But John was still grinning.

"Are you not still small and mischievous, Hale?" He turned to the mirror and finished soaping his face. "You stand little higher than my shoulder and just yesterday released a wizard of a farmer from jail _and_ the noose, defying both the law and the bible in the process. You would not call that mischievous?"

"I let an innocent man free yesterday, John." Hale's face lost all humor. "If you would have me believe differently…?"

"If I confessed now, what would you do? If I broke my knees before your fireplace and begged forgiveness for a crime I never touched a hand to, would you lock me back?"

But Hale only shook his head and slid down into the chair.

"You know I would do nothing, John." He sighed and pressed at his eyes. "Should it come to pass that you are truly guilty, I would do nothing. If only because so many others have hung before you."

"I believe none of it." Proctor turned his head to better see Hale's reaction in the mirror. "What loving god could forsake that many?"

Hale didn't react. Not so much as a twitch. His eyes were locked on something but for the life of him, Proctor couldn't tell exactly what.

"Hale?" He frowned and turned.

"You're bleeding, John." He said without moving his head.

Proctor glanced in the mirror.

"I am not."

"Really?" He stood and made to leave the room. "My mistake."

John frowned, watching him leave, but after a moment stretched between them, turned back to his shaving.

* * *

A short while later, he'd nicked himself so badly, blood dripped down onto the cutthroat and turned it to a grisly sort of weapon.

And Proctor couldn't help but recall the lost look on Hale's face, and the announcement that came five minutes too soon.


	5. Losing Mine

Title: Of Fevers and Ghosts

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Johnny Hale/John Proctor

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own.

Author's Note: Been awhile. There will probably be more chapters after this, but my pace at this point is more random than it is anything else. The urge to work this particular project comes and goes.

* * *

Chapter Five

Losing Mine

* * *

"My husband, Mr. Hale?" Elizabeth asked as he entered their small cell. "Is there any news?"

"No news." He smiled. "But by now I believe him well."

"Safe, do you think?"

"I—"

Before he could answer in his way, Rebecca Nurse bustled over. She'd been set to hang the day before, but in Proctor's escape had been forgotten.

"Oh, now. Don't go about asking him ridiculous half-questions. There's no one listening, Elizabeth. Say it straight out." She stopped and stared him dead in the eye. "Did you get tired of waiting for those little boys to do the right thing?"

"Yes, ma'am." Hale felt something like a little boy himself, facing this woman.

"So have I." She frowned. "But it's good he's gone at least. He's the keystone to their madness. Once they lose their scapegoat, they'll all hit the mud." She stopped and looked him dead in the eyes for a long moment and it took a great deal of his willpower not to flinch.

At length, the only woman nodded and her smile was a sad twist of the lips.

"Don't get yourself sunk in too deep."

And then she wandered off again, back into her place amongst the mass of women.

"John will get into trouble the moment you let your eye off him." Elizabeth smiled, her hands tangled together. "I'd make sure he's not leaving where you left him, if I were you."

Hale frowned.

"Why would he leave? He knows the danger he's in."

She shrugged.

"He's like a little boy sometimes, Mr. Hale. Whatever it is he can't have, he wants the most."

Worried now, Hale couldn't keep from glancing at the window.

"He wouldn't risk it."

"He'll want to see his boys."

Hale's eyes shot wide. He could be seen. And his boys were far too young to keep quiet about anything, much less that they'd seen their father.

"Excuse me." He choked out, and bolted from the cell.

* * *

Proctor checked the new seal on the loose pane again and stepped back. It was only a little thing, but he felt useless wandering around the reverend's house.

Suddenly, the door slammed open and he could hear running footsteps on the wooden floor. It was only when the man cursed that Proctor recognized him and pulled from the shadows.

"What's happened? He frowned. "Are you well, Hale?"

A shattered sigh as Hale raked his fingers through his hair.

"You're here. Thank god."

"Are you sure you're all in order?" Proctor took a step forward and stopped to hear his labored breathing. "Did you run here?"

A sharp nod and the man stood straighter.

"Have you been out at all?"

"Only into the woods. Why?"

"If they see you, John—"

"I was careful." He smiled and rested a hand on the man's shoulder. "What set you to running here?"

"Elizabeth mentioned you might find your sons."

"My sons?"

"Do not, John. You mustn't."

Proctor laughed and turned away.

"I am not so much an idiot as everyone seems to think."

"You would do it." Hale sighed again and sunk down into the armchair. "I believe your wife when she says you long for what you cannot have."

"It is the fault of all men." He stopped, looked at the reverend, the morning playing over in his mind. He'd wanted, _lusted_ for what he could not have. And then…

"You said I'd cut myself this morning when I hadn't." Proctor said slowly, gauging the man's reaction.

Hale shrugged.

"I mistook what I saw."

"And yet it happened." Proctor crossed his arms, eyes seeking Hale's though the reverend refused to face him. "Not five minutes past and I was bleeding."

Another elegant shrug.

"Coincidence." An odd flicker of fear in his eyes and he stood, running a hand through his hair. "I must return to the prisons, John. There's work to be done."

Proctor's eyes darkened.

"What are you avoiding?"

"I am avoiding nothing." Hale stopped, frowning, but the fear never left his eyes.

"My question?"

"Did I not answer it?"

Proctor was almost certain that look of confusion was a mask, hiding the panic welling beneath.

"What _are_ you, Hale?" he asked, and his voice was gentle.

"A reverend." The mask faded, fear turning to steel and ice behind his eyes. War had been called. "You would name me something different, John?"

Proctor took a step forward, slowly, as if approaching a startled horse.

"The look in your eyes before you told me I'd been cut, Hale, is not something I can easily forget."

"And what look was that?" His voice was calm, but there was a sharp tension in his shoulders as he pressed his hands behind his back. The gesture was startlingly familiar.

"You looked right through me."

"I was thinking. Nothing more."

His sons… It reminded him of his sons when they had something to hide. What was it Hale was hiding? A mark? A tremor?

Were his hands shaking, Proctor wondered.

"Thinking of me?"

"I mistook what I saw, John. Nothing more." There was a terseness in his voice now that belied a lie.

"No," Proctor shook his head slowly. "You were right in what you saw, I think. But what you saw… I cannot parse it."

"There is nothing to _parse_. Why can you not leave it at that?"

Proctor was silent a moment, eyes boring into those of the smaller man before he spoke.

"You are defensive."

"Defensive? What cause have I _not_ to be defensive when I'm being interrogated in my own home by a… a…" he sputtered the last and stopped dead, the fear in his eyes a tangible thing.

"A what? A _wizard_?" Proctor smiled slowly; daring to believe a little, see a little outside the doctrines of the church.

"If you intend to accuse me of something, Proctor, have it out now," Hale spat, muscles working as he clenched his jaw.

"You need hide nothing from me, Hale." Again that soft, cajoling tone. "You know better than to think I'd do anything to harm you."

"I hide nothing." And yet the muscles in his jaw danced on.

Almost absently, Proctor scratched at the cut that had bled so badly that morning. Hale followed his hand with an almost desperate look in his eyes.

If there had ever been a doubt the reverend was hiding something, it was banished now. He had never seen Hale like this before. Broken, yes. He'd seen him weep at the thought of so many dead, seen the nightmares that wracked his sleep and held him when he thought it would still him.

But not this. Not this sunken, dead look in his eyes. It was the look of a man who knew he was staring death in the face and yet still prepared to fight. The look itself was not unfamiliar, but to see it on Hale, sweet, even tempered Hale…

"What is it you fear?" John asked at length. "Another man would have laughed. And yet you stand there like stone with that look in your eyes. You're hiding something, Hale. I can see it. But the reason why eludes me."

He could not possibly fathom Hale's panic in that moment. And it was not so much fear of the questions, but rather fear of the feeling building just under his breastbone and the pressure behind his eyes. Questions he had handled all his life. Every day was a constant practice in shadows, hiding who and _what_ he was.

No, this was the terrifyingly familiar feeling that heralded the coming of a storm. It was a scent on the wind, a dog's mind as he howls at the moon. And the knowledge that this attack could not be deflected, could not be spent curled in a warm bed was what had him pressed on the knife's blade of panic.

"You're far too intelligent for your own good, Proctor," he said, voice little more than a choked whisper.

After all these years, his farce came crumbling down. His great mask, his masquerade, his living game… his _protection_. He was broken.

"Hale?" Proctor's voice sounded a mile off. "Hale, are you well?"

He knew he should go to bed, curl before the fire and let this sickness have its way with him before he rejoined the world of the living. At the very least, he knew he should sit down. But force of will and stubbornness kept him standing, kept him clinging to the vain hope that perhaps he could fight it back, that he could continue on.

_I am not mad. Neither am I ill. Send your questions elsewhere, Proctor. Leave me rest in peace._

The words of a head stone passed before his eyes.

_Rest in peace. _

His mother… wife… child. All dead.

_Rest in peace._

He felt like he was falling to pieces, the world shattering around him.

_Ashes, ashes…_

A child's voice. His _daughter's_ voice.

A sickness they couldn't cure. Not with his mother's remembered herbs, not with their prayers and useless medicines.

_We all fall down…_

Had Proctor not been moving already, he never would have caught him before he hit the ground.


	6. Everything Falls

Title: Of Fevers and Ghosts

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Johnny Hale/John Proctor

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own.

Author's Note: Love.

* * *

Chapter Six

Everything Falls

* * *

Proctor maneuvered the smaller man into bed, not sure what was going on or even what to do. Whatever he had seen this morning was nothing compared to now.

Hale's eyes were wide open, flitting about the room as he alternated between fear and anger. He was speaking, but not to Proctor, the words that came out disjointed and only half there.

"Hush. _Hush_," he whispered, trying to keep him still. But it only aggravated him more and so Proctor had to think of something fast.

Unfortunately, nothing came. This madness, this… _spell_ was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Hale's fever raged and broke as quickly as it came, turning to deathly chills and back again.

Not knowing what else to do, he slipped into bed beside the smaller man and held him tight to his chest. Hale struggled first, turning in his dream and then relaxed, sagging boneless against him. The words still made no sense, but they weren't angry at least.

"Can't see you. Stranger this. Move. _Move!_"

"No, be still," Proctor murmured, running a hand through his hair. "You're home. Sleep."

"Idiot." Hale's glare was rather endearing despite everything. "Sorrier the twist to two. Lay still. Mad."

"_You're_ mad." Proctor wondered if it wasn't true of himself. A servant girl, a reverend and now he could almost make sense of the latter's madness.

"Can't still to see. Inside outside."

"You'll be fine. It'll pass."

"Wrong love."

"No such thing." Even as he said it, he wondered if he believed it.

Proctor took to stroking Hale's hair again, wondering if the man could answer questions put to him in this state.

No. It was wrong. A betrayal of trust on so many levels. This man had risked his life for Proctor's. His mind, however torn, was his own. And the farmer had no right to take it from him.

But should something slip…

Proctor closed his eyes.

He sincerely doubted Hale would remember any of this in the morning. And god knew he needed help parsing out his feelings, even if that revelation came encoded in the ramblings of a sick man.

"Do you believe it?" Proctor asked.

"What you make it."

"Is there something ill with me, do you think? First the devil's bitch and now I find myself with feelings for another."

Hale laughed, a pure, clean sound.

"Lover's quarrel."

"My wife and I? It is nothing like that. Abigail was a mistake born of grief and too much drink. This feels different."

"Stranger dreams than mine, John."

He knew who he was talking to at least, even if the words themselves made very little sense. Proctor plowed on anyway.

"It's not that I don't love Elizabeth. She's wonderful. But when I lay near her I feel somehow empty."

"And other beds are warm yet."

Strangely enough, _that_ made sense. But then Proctor wasn't sure there was a sane man in the room just now.

"This feels somewhat different as the object of my attention is another man."

"Beautiful?"

_Yes, you are,_ he almost said, but stopped himself in time.

"Does it matter? I'm in love, I think, and feeling wretched for it."

"Not so much to concern with. Love very more."

"Very more?" Proctor arched a brow, chuckling slightly. "Good advice, I suppose, if I understood your meaning."

Hale frowned, obviously trying to say something that couldn't quite bridge the gap between his worlds.

"Joy in shared things. Thoughts."

"I cannot exactly see Elizabeth, now can I?"

"The second lover shares without a barn to roll in."

"Low blow, Hale."

The reverend smiled, feeling somewhat satisfied in that his message had been conveyed and closed his eyes.

"You have no idea what I've said, do you?" Proctor asked gently, winding his fingers in the smaller man's hair.

"Moonbeams," Hale murmured and shifted down, drifting off to sleep.

* * *

He woke hours later at half past nine, impossibly tangled in Proctor, his head throbbing like it housed all hellfire. For a long moment, he just lay there, eyes closed, reveling in the feeling of being held.

This was horrible. Absolutely wretched. Hale moved a little closer for it, his face in Proctor's neck, breathing in the man's scent.

Automatically, the farmer shifted, an arm pulling taunt around his waist.

"Hush, John. No more demons," he slurred through his dreams. "I've got you."

Hale smiled, a twisted little thing. That was the problem. Proctor had him completely. As if it wasn't evident enough in that he'd risked his life for _this_.

If ever they discovered Proctor in his house, he was dead.

Then again, if Elizabeth Proctor ever discovered his infatuation for her husband…

Hell hath no fury.

But then, he had other matters of concern.

_Blood. Too long a rope._

I'd been a horrible attack, one he'd been staving off for far too long. It was the worst he'd had in months. And yet sitting here in Proctor's arms was something of a dream. Or it would have been, had his head not protested quite so much.

_Whispered promises that couldn't be true._

Hale opened his eyes, watching Proctor sleep.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

He'd never fallen quite so hard before. It was disturbing how one look from this man could so unsettle him, could steal his heart away.

It wasn't that he hadn't known of this… preference. No, his wife had been his dearest friend, if rarely his lover, and more than understanding of his plight. Her death had rattled him to the core.

But this… this felt like so much more than love, this infatuation.

_Obsession._

And the visions terrified him. So many possibilities. If he told Proctor, the man would leave.

_Blood, so much blood._

If he didn't… Proctor was a smart man. The questions would come. It was the outcome of those questions that scared him the most.

_Betrayal for love. How much passes? How hard will you try to keep him?_

Carefully, Hale attempted to extract himself from Proctor's grip. But apparently he'd tried it during the night as well, as that arm tightened doubly around his waist until moving was near impossible.

_He's married. If you love him, you will not add to his litany of sins._

"Let me up, Proctor," he said, voice barely shaking. "The fire's gone out."

"Leave it," came the mumbled response. "We're warm enough together."

"No, Proctor. Let me up."

"Hush. Be still, Johnny."

_Johnny. Johnny-boy_.

Hale smiled painfully and attempted to extract the fingers from around his stomach.

"Proctor—"

"It's late, Hale. There's nothing that needs doing." He was most certainly awake now. "Be still and sleep."

"Yes, I realize this. But I've been still for the better part of a day and my legs are cramping. Let me up, John."

Apparently, he hadn't noticed before that moment how lucid Hale had become. The arm was removed without hesitation. In the darkness, Hale wondered if Proctor weren't blushing.

But as he paced the room it occurred to him that Proctor had been holding him quite willingly. So far as to refuse to let him go.

"Did I speak at all?" He asked, turning to glance at the bed as he paced, a solitary vision beginning to make sense. "I don't suppose any of it was at all sane."

Proctor shrugged.

"Sane enough. I understood. But what that says for me, I've no idea."

"Was it bad then?" Hale smiled and came back to sit by the bed.

Another shrug.

"You were angry mostly. It was only when I started talking you quieted."

Another puzzle piece, but one that had long since been fitted into place.

_You're in love. Admit it. You're in love._

"I suppose there's really no denying it to you now, is there?" Hale asked with a soft, sad smile, looking at Proctor.

The farmer only laughed and curled back into bed.

"Deny it all you want, Hale. I knew it already."

"Knew what, exactly?"

Through the shadows, their eyes met.

"There's still one witch at least in Salem, Hale. Can't really say as I'm surprised it's you."


	7. Falling Again

Title: Of Fevers and Ghosts

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Johnny Hale/John Proctor

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own.

* * *

Chapter Seven

Falling Again

* * *

"Please, John. Tell no one."

Proctor disliked the desperation in his reverend's voice.

_Yours?_

"You know I will do nothing." He smiled in an attempt at comfort. "Who have I to speak to?"

"Your wife, for one." Hale's back was to him and he could discern no exact emotion in his voice.

"She's imprisoned still, is she not?"

Hale turned with a sad, twisted smile.

"Not for long if all goes well."

"Your visions?"

Hale shuddered so violently then that Proctor darted up, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you not well? Your fever's broken."

"This is not the end," he whispered, voice unaccountably tight. "Merely the eye of the storm."

Proctor did hold him then, pulling him down into the comfort of the bed.

"You should rest then," he said with a certain gruffness he didn't mean. "Someone's bound to come looking for us both if you become ill."

"John…" it was only a whisper, a rush of air past the reverend's lips, his eyes already dark as he slipped back into visions.

"I'm here," Proctor whispered back, suddenly tender as he curled beside him. "I won't let them have you."

But Hale was sobbing, tremors wracking his small frame. And whatever demons had him Proctor could not chase them off. So he simply sat there, Hale's head tucked under his chin, holding him as he shook.

There was, through his melancholy at seeing the man in such a state, a sense of pride. He was the only living creature on god's green earth that knew of Hale's visions.

Hale had trusted him with this. In some minute way, he had whatever madness it was he craved. It wasn't enough. By everything he'd ever loved, it wasn't enough. But it was going to have to do.

And then, as he held Hale, the man curled so pitifully against him, something in Proctor broke. Anger and desperation boiled into something almost tangible. He was _furious_ at the people of Salem, at the jealous god that could let such a massacre occur, the jealous god that could command a man to follow his heart and keep him from it in the same instant. And _why?_ Why in the hell should he be forced to change his ideal of beauty? Why could he not _love_?

He refused to believe it. If he had been created by god and not by random celestial accident, then was it not God's fault he was flawed? And if such a creature could create a _flaw_ then did that not imply that the creature itself was flawed? Could a flawed thing be considered God at all?

Or perhaps, if there was some god sitting high in the heavens, was it not possible that these flaws were not flaws at all, but rather purposeful facets like the cutting of a gem? Which would mean that man's view of god was wrong…

Either way, did that not make following his heart the right course? He _loved_ Hale for godssake. There could be no mistaking that.

_Elizabeth_.

His righteous anger popped abruptly.

_What about Elizabeth?_

He had pushed her to limits no wife should be made to bear with his disloyalty. The devil's servant girl and now a reverend.

Reverend… He had no other word for him. He was not witch or wizard— such things implied a sense of wickedness. Hale was more nymph, sprite… a creature without bounds, made by nature. His gift, this magic of his was not the work of the devil. There was no shame in it.

Proctor held the smaller man closer now, holding him as near as he could. Slowly, Hale eased, relaxing into him. Proctor smiled, slipping a hand under his shirt of stroke circles on his back.

"Easy, John," he murmured, smooth skin playing under his fingers. "I won't let them hurt you."

"Alone," came the strangled whisper.

"You are not alone. And I'm not about to leave you."

"Alone by love."

Proctor paused.

"I don't understand your meaning."

"Lightness. Awash in blood."

"_No_." Proctor stroked his hair, pulling him a little closer for it. "You're safe with me. There's nothing to fear."

"Wings, heads rolling lost. No joy in hidden shadows. Corridors." Hale looked up, his eyes oddly blank as they focused on his face. "No way to live."

"There's no good in worrying now."

"Children, John. _Elizabeth_."

"Elizabeth will understand, I think. She must."

"Boys."

"My boys will know their father is a good man."

"Devil."

Proctor smiled.

"Am I, you think?"

Hale nodded, eyes drifting to the window.

"Fish by fly."

"Be clear, John."

"No point in this," he said, suddenly furious. "Leading without end. Hope fails!"

Proctor took his face in both hands, forcing their eyes to meet.

"I love you," he said fiercely, holding his stare. "It is enough."

Hale sagged downward then, anger leaving him in a rush, something of the tears returning.

"Nothing to keep. Drifting. Too wrong."

"I won't believe that," Proctor murmured, drawing him close. "I love you."

"Fool's moon."

"A fool perhaps, but a happy one at least." Proctor smiled into his hair. "I will not live my life thinking that perhaps, if I had only dared to reach out, I could have kept you."

"Nothing to keep."

"You're not making sense."

"A fool by every moon. Madness without end. Blind, Proctor!"

"I see _you_." He smiled, held him close— Hale's back to his chest. "It is enough."


End file.
